


Twelve Days of Drabbles

by Officer_Jennie



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Random universes, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Twelve MadaTobi drabbles for the holiday season. Random universes, chapters unrelated, and allverynsfw.Or: A blatant and unrepentant excuse to write smut.Update Schedule: Daily





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the first day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> A mess of frotting shinobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came _thiiiiss_ close ( --> [ ] that close) to naming this "The Twelve Days of Smutmas."
> 
> Posting the first chapter a day early (so no update on Thursday) cause tomorrow’s gonna be busy.

To Madara, all circumstances, all situations, all of life, could be boiled down, condensed and summarized by one simple word: battle.

Most might think him bloodthirsty, paranoid, ill-tempered with a sharp tongue. And they might be right.

But he wasn't wrong.

Any advantage given was a show of weakness, and any moment of weakness could be his death.

Even now, their bodies flushed and legs tangled together, lips parted and bruised, his grip tight in white locks as long fingers wrapped around his cock, a thumb swiping the beads of precum over the head - his hand slipped under the pillow, brushing against a kunai. Cold metal kept him steady, grounded, let him press forward in need.

A sharp snap of his hips left Tobirama gasping, eyes fluttering closed. A hand moved to his thigh, fire on his skin. Hiked his leg up over his own, leverage closing the minute gap between their aching heat.

"Do you ha-  _fuck_." Tobirama's eyes snapped back open, intent on his own. Lust, desire, red-hot and burning. Hand running up his thigh, passed his hip, gripping his rear and pulling them impossibly closer. Lips brushed against pink lips, breathless, inviting and open and a promise to devour him, body and soul.

"Oil?"

Madara stilled. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, blood singing a warning in his veins. Light danced white in his vision, body tensed for battle and screaming for release.

He pressed his hand against the hidden blade, feeling his skin break, give way to the biting edge. Kept him grounded, steady, there.

A moment passed, and Tobirama pulled back, eyes glazed with lust but a flicker of hesitation.

"What's wrong?" His hand trailed up, between now still bodies, feather-light on sweat-slick skin. Ran circles through coarse, black hair, following the dancing rhythm of his heart. A kiss at the edge of his lips, soft, asking again without words.

A deep inhale. He forced his hand away from the blade, wrapping it around pale shoulders. Blood trickled from his palm, running scarlet on white skin, mixing wet and stinging.

Exhale. Muscles relaxed, if only just. He pulled Tobirama back flush with him, a lazy roll of his hips, breath hot and teeth at his ear. Whispered, low, "No more than this."

Tobirama nodded and swallowed hard. Tugged at wild hair and crashed swollen lips together, intent on devouring him whole, chasing desire as they moved together, against each other.

He understood, of course. Any shinobi would. For sex was just another battle, and neither could have submitted further without force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm going to be _that_ annoying person and make a song out of the prompts. Because I have no life.
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the second day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Pet (kitty) play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wouldn't post this one today, but I'm bored. Here. Take it.
> 
> Edit: The lovely [sinyaru](http://sinyaru.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr did art for this chapter ~~and it's absolutely perfect and beautiful and I'm dying~~. Please go check out their other works, they're absolutely _amazing_!!

Madara hadn’t known what to expect when he reached the Senju household, shoved out of his office before he could so much as glance at his paperwork. Some wailing and dramatics from Hashirama, along with his pout turned to Maximum Overdrive, and Madara had gotten his first real day off since they’d founded the village, with only a single stipulation: he had to at least stop by and check on his boyfriend, who currently had the house to himself, no one else to stop by and interrupt them like usual.

Truly, a horrid fate was his.

As per the norm when Hashirama was absent, the house was quiet. Madara let himself in, not bothering to knock. He could sense Tobirama in the living room, chakra wavering as he sulked; from what his brother had explained, there had been an experiment mishap, but nothing too serious had happened. He’d probably broken another leg, or burnt his eyebrows off again.

No matter. Madara’s been told he’s an excellent kisser. And even if it wasn’t something he could kiss better, the distraction alone would prove worth the effort - no doubt for the both of them.

Of course, the kissing would come _after_ he lectured his lover - _for the twelfth time_ \- about his lackluster safety measures. And a decent amount of ribbing if whatever had happened was embarrassing enough to rub in Tobirama’s face.

Love or not, there’s just some things Madara couldn't pass on.

_“Go away! Don’t come in here!”_

Madara paused, still bent over in the middle of removing his sandals, hand on the door for support. Tobirama had practically hissed the words, which could mean one of two things: either Madara had done something to really piss the man off, which he was about ninety-nine percent certain he _hadn’t_ , or…

He didn’t try to stop the smirk tugging at his lips, ignoring Tobirama’s hissed warning and heading straight for him. Whatever had happened was apparently _extremely_ embarrassing, and there was no way he was leaving now.

Tobirama had curled himself into a corner of the sofa, hands lanced over his head and knees up close. He glared as Madara entered the room. “I thought I said to _go away_.”

“Now, Tobirama, I couldn’t just leave. I promised Hashirama I’d come check on you.” His attempt at a sweet smile had too much teeth, red eyes narrowing further at him as he leaned against the back of the sofa. “I’d hate to be a bad friend.”

“You’ve seen me now, so _leave_. I can care for myself.” His hands pressed down further on his head, the movement drawing Madara’s eyes.

“So, what did you do?” He leaned closer, doing a body scan; there weren’t any obvious changes from what he could see, certainly nothing that would cause that pretty blush shading around his tattoos. Instead of waiting for an answer, he reached over and snatched a hand away, not at all deterred by the snarling protest.

If given much time to think on it, Madara would have had only a few guesses on what he’d find there. A bald spot, a discoloration perhaps - he had accidentally dyed his hair lime green only a few months prior. Perhaps a head injury he didn’t want anyone to worry over. But even if he’d have been given a good month to guess, he never would have guessed right.

An ear. A furry white ear, tipped in black, and twitching backwards as he stared at it - a quick snatch of the other hand revealed he had a matching set.

Cat ears. Snow leopard, from the shape and color of them. Well, that certainly explained the pretty pink spreading across Tobirama’s whole face.

“How, exactly, did you manage _these_?” Madara snickered, scratching at the ears. His hand was batted away quickly with a huff, Tobirama pulling his knees closer and turning his glare at the opposite wall.

“None of your business.”

“Come on, kitten, don’t be mean.” The mock-nickname earned his hand another slap, but he managed to cup his boyfriend’s cheek, tilting his face to meet his eyes. “I think they’re cute.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Yes, but they’re still cute.”

A rather mischievous thought popped into his mind as he looked at them, and he pushed himself up and left the room without a word. Hashirama’s office was the furthest down the hall, door unlocked and not a single ward to bar his entrance. It only took a few minutes to find what he needed, but it took all of his self-control not to cackle.

Tobirama eyed him as he came back, suspicion written in the wrinkle of his brow. Madara said nothing, hiding his find in one of his long sleeves, doing his best to distract him by running a hand down his chest and kissing one pale cheek.

When he danged his prize in front of his boyfriend’s face, the long strip of black ribbon complete with a tinkling bell, he couldn’t hold back his snort of laughter at the utter betrayal in Tobirama’s eyes.

“You’re not putting tha- where did you even _get_ that?”

He snorted some more, stretching it out with both hands, tinkling the bell as it bounced. “Hashirama’s craft drawer.”

“I’m not wearing it.”

“C’mon, _kitten_.” He propped his chin on his shoulder, giving another short kiss to the tattoo striking red across his cheek, ignoring the low warning growl - and wasn’t that interesting. He was _growling_. “If you wear it, I promise not to breathe a word of it to Izuna.”

He didn’t expect Tobirama to bite. But, much to his surprise, Tobirama eyed the ribbon, taking a minute to seemingly chew over the proposal. His eventual relenting came along with the slump of his shoulders. “You’re not allowed to mention _any of this_ to _anyone_.”

And who was he to say no when it so clearly benefited him?

With the make-shift collar tied neat around his neck, Madara pushed him forward, squeezing himself into the corner of the sofa. As he did so, he discovered something else that had his sides splitting from laughter: Tobirama had a tail. A tail that was damn near as long as his legs, and soft as a kitten’s fur. His boyfriend sulked some more, crossing his arms but melting back into him all the same.

“Is there anything else you’re hiding from me?” Madara kissed the back of his neck, knowing how easily it turned him into heated goo - and counting on it. Usually he lectured first, but maybe, just this once, he could go straight for the distraction. “Retractable claws, some new fangs, the ability to purr?”

Tobirama grumbled a bit, placing a hand over the wandering one on his thigh. “Snow leopards don’t purr.”

“Oh?” His guess had been right then, though it mattered little to him at the moment, busy as he was running his fingers ever closer to his prize. “Bet I could prove you wrong.”

“You can’t prove me wrong.” His legs spread of their own accord, head tilted to expose his neck to Madara’s teeth and hungry lips. “No large cats can. They’re hyoid bones aren’t completely ossified, which makes them incapable of purring.”

“I love when you talk dirty to me.”

That comment earned him a sharp nip, though Tobirama hardly complained when he dipped his hand lower. Only gasped softly as he palmed the growing proof he’d found the sweet spot right at the back of his neck.

His tail flipped, hitting the sofa hard when Madara pressed the heel of his palm just that much harder. He let his other hand trail up over his chest, playing with the bell while he bit a red mark right under his ear, soothing the skin with his tongue.

“That feel good, kitten?”

Tobirama tried to glare at him, but the effect was lessened when his eyes were hazed so, with a hand rubbing at his cock. “Stop calling me that.”

Madara tutted at him, tugging lightly at the ribbon around his neck. “Kittens can’t talk, Tobirama.”

“What do you want me to do, meow?” His nose wrinkled ever so cutely, even as he rocked into his hand, a silent demand for more. When all Madara did was lighten his touch, running gloved fingers over the head of his clothed cock, Tobirama exhaled sharply through his nose, turning a hot gaze on him. “Is that what it will take to make you actually _do_ something?”

“If I say yes?”

Tobirama turned just enough to catch his eyes, and deadpanned, “Meow.”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh, belied by the humor quirking his lips and the impatient way his fingers tugged at the strings of his pants, shoving his hand in and relishing the way Tobirama arched into his touch.

“Since you’re being such a good boy.” He tangled his free hand in white hair, licking into his mouth to taste the aborted sounds on his tongue.

When they had first fallen into bed together - well, fallen behind a bush after a heated sparring match, more like - Madara had been more than a little shocked at how much the man talked during sex. Sure, Tobirama had never been a silent person, even around those he disliked, but hearing him say so much at any given time was rare. Even more surprising was what he talked _about_.

Tobirama wasn’t a dirty talker. He was a conversationalist. If Madara ever found himself curious about what new jutsu he was working on, what experiments had worked or failed, or even his exact thoughts on a recent council meeting, the best way to find out would be to get the man in bed.

That being said, seeing him as he was, hard cock half hidden in his pants, beads of precum rolling down his shaft, rolling into Madara’s steady grip, chest rising faster in his quickening breaths - to see him so aroused and hear not a word from his lips, only the soft gasps and low moans that usually cut through his long-winded talks, neck muscles tensed in his attempts to bite back the words surely trying to claw out of his throat, had Madara preening in victory.

It wasn’t much, but his little kitten was playing along. And he was doing so wonderfully.

As he started getting oh so close to tipping over, Tobirama sought him out, muffing his own quiet whimpers in Madara’s mouth. He grazed over his sensitive tip with his palm, causing his hips to snap upward and a cry to fall out of those kiss-pink lips. Murmured praises fell between them, at his cheek, in his ear, as Madara took his time bringing him over the edge, pressing just his thumb into the slit before stroking him once more.

All it took was a few more strokes, hot breath in his ear and praises dripping from Madara’s tongue, and Tobirama came, his climax leaving him shivering into his chest, eyelids shut tight and breaths shaking out of him.

Madara gave him a few moments, letting him come back down before fixing his pants back up. He tossed his now soiled glove to the side, tucking Tobirama’s head under his chin, feeling him melt back into him with a contented hum. His tail curled around his legs as he curled up in Madara’s lap, resting his eyes and no doubt ready for a nap.

He kissed the top of his head, running his fingers through his hair, rubbing one of the round ears blending in so well there.

“So, any plans to keep these, kitten?”

Tobirama smacked his chest lightly, but his glare had no heat behind it, half-lidded and body far too lax to be anything but pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama: *in the middle of sex* Have I told you about the Edo tensei yet?  
> Madara: Can you, like, let me finish fir-  
> Tobirama: So there I was, in the graveyard, ten bodies to choose from and no idea which would be the ideal candidate... *long-winded story*
> 
> (Head-canon: Izuna's a bigger gossip than even Hashirama.)  
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the third day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first draft of this was a silly and light-hearted thing about a fake kidnapping (cause kidnapping was the original prompt), and I honestly have no idea what happened xD

The woods were anything but quiet, bathed in starlight and the hum of night. Owls called out from their perches in the treetops, echoing one another, cutting through insect song buzzing on the forest floor. The symphony around them drowned out his soft gasps, the strangled beginnings of moans only just held back.

Madara pressed his tongue flat against the underside of his shaft, swallowing around his cock, and his head hit the pine steady at his back. Pale fingers, tangled as they were in wild hair, clenched tighter, only just resisting the need to hold him still and buck into him. He bit his fist, teeth close to breaking skin, as Madara took him to the hilt, nose in white curls and throat humming.

And Tobirama had never believed in gods, but he knew he was mere moments from a religious experience.

The night was cold against his flesh, almost painfully so when compared to the damp-heat of Madara’s mouth. He whimpered as he pulled away, a choked sound around bitten knuckles.

Madara’s kiss was soft, nothing more than a brush of swollen lips, running up a trail of precum dripping slow. A lazy stroke of leather-gloved fingers, a tilt of his head to meet his gaze. Red on red, shinning in the dark. Black tomoe spinning slow, eyes as hot as the blood boiling through his veins.

When he spoke, breath caressing saliva-slick flesh, deep tenor rough with lust and gaze unwavering, all he could do was shiver.

“Do you want something, Senju?”

By the gods, did he want. More than just the release, edging ever closer with each clever flick of that wicked tongue - he wanted _him_. Wanted to bury himself in this man, make a home there and never leave.

Wanted him enough to be here, lit only by the moon and stars, gasping around bitter blood dried and cracking on his hand, both of them still clad in armor and dirtied from the battlefield.

Enough to feel little shame at crying out his name, to forget in the bright white bliss that washed heavy through him - forget that he could never have this man, this Uchiha knelt before him.

Come dawn, clan symbols colored in the burning sun, they would be at war once more. It was lucky, then, a blessing that the woods would keep their secret well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now I must away! to go frantically write for everything that updates tomorrow. *fweee~*
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the fourth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> One Honeypot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure I like this one, but meh.

He hadn’t meant to come here.

It was only luck, really, that Madara was even awake at this hour. The Uchiha had always been an early riser, burning with the sun while Tobirama worked best at night. He was already dressed for bed, legs folded under him where he sat at the low table, chin in hand and lazily flipping through one of his novels.

He wasn’t sure why he was here. Didn’t know what he’d planned to say, really. All he could do was stare at his back. Listen to the rustle of paper. Watch as his hair, brushed back in a low ponytail and blending in to the midnight blue of his yukata, slipped away to reveal more moon-pale skin. Feel the heat of his gaze as he glanced over one shoulder, black eyes ever intense and burning.

“How was the mission?”

“It was…” A success. Easy work. Had gained the village an affluent ally in Tea Country. Had paid far more than the average he took.

Had left a foul taste in his mouth, and led him here.

He shook his head. Lying to him wasn’t an option, even by omission. Even if he didn’t want to tell him, irascible as he was.

“It was a honeypot.”

He knew what to expect, and averted his gaze. They were shinobi. Almost every mission he took would make a civilian’s stomach curdle. But Madara wasn’t forgiving by nature, despite that. And nothing he’d ever done before had come close to betraying him in such a manner.

The feel of warm fingers on his cheek made him flinch. He didn’t pull away from the touch, letting Madara run a hand through his hair, down his arm, to grip his hand. Didn’t look at him either, not wanting to see the disgust or rage directed at him.

When Madara tugged him towards the hall, he followed without a word, feeling his stomach drop as they went. He thought him filthy. That was why he led him to the wet-room, stripped him down bare. Sat him down at a stool and washed his back, a mockery of all the times they’d done this before.

He almost forgot Madara was furious at him, with the way he rubbed shampoo into his hair, scratched his scalp just right to make him hum. Took his time rinsing the soap away, running his fingers through white hair, down his neck and shoulders, soothing the sore muscles.

The way he held him close in the hot bath, arms wrapped tight around him, heartbeat steady at his ear and one hand working the knot between his shoulder blades.

“You’re upset with me.” He knew Madara. Knew he was a jealous man, and ill-tempered at the best of times.

Madara shifted beneath him, one arm wrapping tighter, moving a hand up to brush the bangs from his face, card through his hair. “It was a mission.”

“You’re still upset.”

“Of course I’m upset.” His voice was soft, quiet, dissimilar to his words. He pulled him impossibly closer, the next words nothing but murmurs in wet hair. “You’re mine. No one else should touch you.”

“I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, nose pressed into the curls at his chest. There was oil in the water, lavender and rose, calm and light. But Madara smelled of cedar and ash, heady and heavy and lingering.

Madara huffed, lifting his chin to press a kiss to his forehead. “Stop that.”

“We didn’t, well…” Tobirama braved a look up at him. Madara wasn’t good at hiding his anger - didn’t ever bother to, really, choosing instead to wear it on his sleeves. But his eyes were neither cold nor red, his jaw not clenched, hands still hot and steady as he held him close. “They didn’t actually get to…”

“What did they do?” Madara cradled his cheek, brushing a thumb over his lips before dipping in to taste them.

“They kissed me, but we didn’t-” Madara was too distracting, too skilled with his tongue and _intoxicating_. Sharp teeth nipping at his lip, chin, ear. Hands pushing him back against the tub, fitting himself between his legs.

“Tell me what they did.” His breath was hot on his neck, hands firm at his hips. “Did they kiss you here? Bite you?”

Tobirama nodded, not trusting his voice. Gasped as Madara licked a strip up his neck, sucked a mark into his skin.

A hand moved flat over his stomach, calloused fingers rough on his chest. “Did they touch you here?” His mouth followed after, teeth grazing as he went.

“N-no.” Tobirama threaded his fingers through black hair, pulling the tie loose and tugging him close. Brought his knees up, spreading further to give him room.

One hand rubbed circles at his hip, teeth pulling at his nipple, tongue flickering out to torture him. When he finally let it go, he moved to conquer his mouth next, sucking the breath from his lungs.

“Where else?” He was only given a moment to breathe, a moment to try and think past the haze of lust, the fire igniting red hot and spreading - and Madara was on him once more. Drawing his tongue out to dance, hand at the nape of his neck, the other moving in the water across his thigh.

“Where else did they touch you?”

“They didn’t, not with-” Tobirama bit his tongue, choking at the feel of Madara’s hand. Touch featherlight, fingertips just gracing his shaft, wandering low. “Clothes. Clothes were on. Dry frotting.”

“Is that all?” Tobirama wrapped a leg around him as he spoke, leaning his head back and swallowing hard. Shook with the effort not to whine as Madara’s hand dipped ever lower, one finger rubbing against his entrance. “Didn’t touch you here? Is this still mine?”

“ _Gods, yes_.”

“Good.” The dark tone had him looking up once more. He caught a glimpse of the possessive glint in now red-black eyes, the slight sneer of his lips before a firm stroke had his head dropping back, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. “Would hate to have to hunt them down.”

It should have frightened him, knowing Madara would kill anyone who touched him. Knowing the man rubbing a thumb over the head of his cock could break him with ease. But it only made him shiver more, made him arch further into him as he worked one finger in, pressing in slow.

It didn’t take long til he was left gasping for air, clenching around the three fingers assaulting the spot that made him see stars, cock leaking into the water from Madara’s skilled hands. He came crying his name, the sound swallowed by eager lips slotting against his own.

“You’re mine.” The words were pressed against the side of his neck, into his pulse point as he came down. He wrapped his arms around Madara as he settled into him, sighed as he nuzzled into the once again wild hair.

“You know, you’re rather creepy sometimes.” Madara snorted at the comment, settling further into him without bothering to deny it. But, really, Tobirama didn’t mind his strange lover, already feeling the weight in his chest lighten even as Madara weighed heavy over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I'll write a cute and funny honeypot between these two. But that's apparently not this day.
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the fifth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> A/O/B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The A/O/B elements aren't super strong in this tbh.  
>  ~~Also I really don't like this one but fuck it~~

In the near decade since they’d first fallen into bed together, drunk on sake and sexual tension after a heated argument one winter afternoon, they had never once approached each other here. It wasn’t as if they’d discussed it, labeled the tower as off-limits, or even that Tobirama was against the idea. He’d personally never done anything here for the same reason he never started anything between them: Madara craved control over every situation, and especially ones involving intimacy.

It was hardly something he minded, really. As hokage, he led an entire village, hundreds and hundreds of shinobi and civilians alike, all relying on him to stay steady. As a clan heir, he taught the Senju youth from a young age, each one following his example. And as a team captain, former or not, he had six students looking up to him above any other, who came to him first even before their own parents or family.

Even if only for a short while, it was nice, then, to allow someone to take the reins from him. And that it left Madara more confident in them made it all the more worthwhile.

That said, being shoved against his office door had been rather unexpected, as was the way Madara clawed at his clothes, near growling as his fingers found purchase on his back.

He smelled of anger. Reeked of it. Tobirama flipped their positions, making sure to give Madara room to protest if he wanted. His back to the wall instead, head rolling to the side as Tobirama pressed a leg between his own, letting him grind down in need. Taking advantage of the movement, he buried his nose into his exposed neck, breathing him in.

Anger, strong like spice. But Madara always smelled of anger - his herbal tea made certain of that. But as they were, flushed together and sweating with lust, he could catch just the edge of his real scent: a fire less sharp than spice, burning steady but not raging, smoking like cinders. And something new there as well, clean and fresh, a hint of spring and blossoms and fresh water -

Ah. Tobirama pulled back, catching something desperate in Madara’s eyes before their mouths were crashing together, teeth clattering and nails biting as they ran down his back.

It was obvious the moment Madara lost his patience for foreplay. Tobirama found himself pushed back across his office, forced back into his desk chair as Madara tore at his own clothes. His lap was soon filled with deliciously bare skin, his lips being bitten raw and near bleeding, a hand tangled in his hair, head yanked to the side with little care.

A single coherent thought managed to form past the feel of sharp teeth at his throat, past the unfettered sounds echoing in his ears, Madara’s battle-rough hand stroking their cocks just this side of painful, grip too hard and twisting too fast, everything all at once too much and not quite enough _and always too much_ -

He’d have to wear a high-collar after this. Probably for a whole week.

The next moment found him spitting out hair, doing his best to hold it out of his face as Madara repositioned himself, facing the desk. Just as Tobirama’s brain caught up with the position, hands finding his hips to help guide him down slow, Madara dropped heavy on his cock, impaling himself and ripping moans out of the both of them.

Madara wasted no time in being sweet and slow, setting the pace fast and concerningly rough. The heat sucked him in, his head hitting the back of his chair, nails digging crescents into Madara’s hips as he moved.

He felt himself slipping, mind going blank. But before Tobirama could lose himself completely, he slipped a hand between them, running his fingers over where they were connected. They came back wet with slick, not a hint of pink. No blood.

Another drop of Madara’s hips, the man riding him desperate, hand gripping his hair and tugging too hard, legs and abs contracting with the effort of his movements - and Tobirama was gone. The position left little he could do for his own pleasure, something that hardly concerned him as he encouraged Madara on, a fist pumping his cock and a palm caressing his sack.

Tobirama tipped over the edge first, overwhelmed as he always was by the man tight around him. Madara wasn’t far behind, hissing in pleasure as he got close, finally spilling over Tobirama’s hand and his own thighs, gasping as he fell back into him.

They would be locked together for the next while, making Tobirama quite grateful for the upgraded locks and wards. He did his best to clean them up, Madara grumbling when he was jostled around - and Tobirama grimaced when he saw what he’d blindly grabbed to mop up their mess.

His good handkerchief. A rather expensive gift from Mito, fine cloth meant for looks more than utility. And he had no idea how to wash it himself.

Madara grabbed the cloth and tossed it to the side, impatiently pulling Tobirama’s arms around him. He hummed, settling himself against his chest, nuzzling the side of his neck. There was a chance they’d be at it again in a few hours, considering how strong the spring scent was on him still, so Tobirama let him rest, holding him close long after they could have pulled apart.

He could hardly complain, really. With such a beautiful and deadly man in his arms, naked and snoozing while he was still buried deep inside of him, even the driest of the reports he worked through were bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification:  
> Tobirama's an alpha. Madara's a secret omega, who drinks a special herbal tea that masks his scent - mainly done because I imagine the Warring States Period and the founder's era weren't that welcoming to the common-sense idea that omega were people who deserved equal rights. Also Madara was in heat, and decided he was done waiting for Tobirama to come home from work.
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the sixth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Some sensei roleplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble, not a freaking _novella_.  
> Ugh. Madara never listens to me.

Madara was on a mission. A self-appointed, selfish, somewhat shameful and potentially suicidal mission, but a mission nonetheless.

His target: Senju Tobirama. Wickedly smart, work-focused, incredibly sexy and _disastrously_ oblivious - hence the need for his mission in the first place.

Location: The Senju’s personal lab. Built into his basement, with limited access and little chance of someone disturbing them.

Goal: To finally, at long last, fulfill that lifelong fantasy involving a stern voice in his ear, a cock up his ass, and being bent over a table. Or desk. Preferably a desk.

Aware as he was of the wards, and despite knowing exactly how to get passed them, they still sent an unpleasant jolt through his body as he flung the lab door open. It banged loud against the wall, but he paid it little mind, kicking it shut behind him.

To his credit, Tobirama did little more than send him a blank stare, a vial of some sort of smoking blue liquid held up at eye level, his hand not even twitching at the invasion.

“I was having a good day, you know.”

“I need to have a word with you.” Ever the expert on selective hearing, Madara ignored the wry tone, crossing the floor to stand next to his desk.

“Obviously.” Tobirama placed the vial in a metal holder, an unimpressed air about him as he crossed his arms. “Is it actually important, or are you just here to waste my time again?”

“Of course, it’s important!” He bristled at the question, the man so easily getting under his skin. There had always been something about Tobirama that set him off, made his already short fuse even shorter.

That’s why he was here, of course. He loved it. How calm he could be, stern to the point of coldness. How he seemed so unaffected by Madara’s stubborn will, refusing to react no matter what he said or did. And he honestly couldn’t imagine a better person to shove him over, hold him down, and whisper filth in his ear whilst taking pleasure from him.

“People have called you sensei before.” He almost winced as he blurted the words out, knowing how stupid the statement was but unable to stop himself.

He should have planned this part out more. Or given it at least more thought beyond just ‘convince Tobirama to fuck me senseless.’ But, really, part one (get here) and part two (convince to fuck) of his master plan were no where near as interesting as the final part three (have the single most satisfying and mind-blowing orgasm of his life) - and had therefore spent considerably less time dancing around his head the last few days.

Besides, Madara was an attractive man. Quite the catch, really. It’s not like Tobirama would say no.

“I don’t have time for this.” Tobirama turned back to his work with a deep sigh, leaving Madara to sputter.

“Don’t have time for what, exactly?”

“Your inane comments. Your general attitude. You.”

“Th-this is important, Senju! Pertinent!” At the bored, disbelieving look he received, Madara added, rather flustered, “Urgent, even!”

“Urgent.” Madara gave a curt nod, doing his best to not let the other man stare him down. “It’s _urgent_ for you to burst into my lab, nearly breaking my door in the process, to point out that I’ve been called sensei before.”

“That’s what I said, yes.” A small ball of regret started to roll around in his stomach, but he did his best to stomp it into submission. Now was the time to stand his ground, not back down.

Tobirama took a deep breath, letting it out slow as if begging for patience. It wasn’t the best sign for his mission, but it was at least a step up from being physically removed from the premises. Several steps, really.

“Yes, Madara. I’ve had students in the past. And I’m sure there’s a good reason you’ve decided to remind me of such common knowledge.” Madara started to answer, but found himself cut off quickly. “A _very_ good reason.”

How, exactly, the man thought he could think straight enough to give a decent answer when he was giving him _that look_ was a mystery best left to the sages. Because that look alone had all of the blood that usually kept him coherent diverting and making his pants far too tight to be comfortable.

“Teach me a lesson.”

Judging from his reaction, that had not been what Tobirama had expected to hear. Eyebrows disappearing in his hair, rapid blinking, lips parted as he tried to process the sentence. Madara felt his cheeks heating as he waited, somewhat in wonder that he even had the blood to spare considering his ever growing _problem_.

He shifted his weight just enough to not be stagnant, wishing he could adjust himself in his pants. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea after all, considering how hard he was just _thinking_ about it. Would he actually be able to survive the actual act at this point?

Still, he was already here, and might not get a second chance. Mainly due to his dwindling courage and admittedly wounded pride.

“I want you to teach me a lesson.” Despite how honest the words were, he had to force them out slow, feeling his tongue try to trip over them. Tobirama took another minute to process them, his head tilting ever so slowly to the side, nose scrunching up as he frowned.

“Okay…” He shook his head, mostly coming out of his confusion. “What, exactly, were you…? Fuinjutsu basics? Suiton? Chemistry?” The last word came with a wave of his hand, gesturing towards the still smoking vial - which had turned a vibrant, almost disturbing shade of yellow since he’d last looked.

“No, nothing like that! I mean-” It was becoming increasingly difficult to stand still under his gaze, now for multiple reasons. He bit the inside of his cheek, looking away to study some odd pulsing matter in a large jar. How, exactly, was one supposed to ask someone to fuck them like a naughty pupil? Was there even a way to ask someone that? Should he just strip naked and hope for the best?

“Madara, are you…?” Self-consciousness finally reared its ugly head, and his jaw clenched tight. He was making a fool of himself. What had he come here for? To throw himself at the Senju’s feet, to beg him for intimacy? Was he that pitiful?

Apparently so, considering that’s exactly what he’d been doing. And oh, what a new low this was.

“Madara.” He snapped to attention at the sharp tone, finding Tobirama’s face and eyes both set hard on him. “Did you break into my lab, interrupting a time-sensitive experiment that I’m only able to do today, my _only_ off day this _month_ , to demand _attention_ from me?”

Well, when he put it that way, it almost made him feel guilty. Just a little.

Okay, maybe he should have given this a _lot_ more thought. And probably should have never come here in the first place.

Before he could manage to make his legs move and ~~flee~~ beat a hasty yet strategic retreat, Tobirama moved, stepping so close to him he had to lean back to meet his gaze.

“You have absolutely _no right_ to demand anything of me. I will not tolerate such behavior.”

Logically, he knew he was stronger than Tobirama. Could take him down easily in a fair fight - but it could hardly be fair here, now, with his knees locked to keep him in place, cock still hard and mind busy imagining all the ways he could take him.

This was bad. This was all going horribly wrong and it was _bad_ , and now he didn’t know whether to bolt or fall to his knees.

“Well?” Tobirama drummed his fingers against his arm, scowling at him. “Do you understand that or not, Madara?”

“Yes.” It should have been embarrassing, how breathless he sounded. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care with the literal man of his fantasies so close he could feel his breath.

“Yes, what?”

The question had him glancing to the side, uncertain of what he meant. Still, his tone had left no room for silence. “Yes, I understand?”

A hand gripped his chin, fingers firm but not painful, and he was forced to look up at him again.

“How do you address your superior, Madara.”

The low tone had him swallowing hard, feeling something wet slide down his cock. His chest shook with his next breath, words rough from his dry throat. “Yes, sensei.”

“Better.” He let his chin go but didn’t move back, face dark with some unknown emotion. “But you understand, of course, that I can’t let you off that easy.”

Not at all trusting his own voice at the moment, Madara nodded, though narrowed red eyes had him rushing out a proper ”Yes, sensei.”

Tobirama took a set back, the space allowing Madara to catch his breath - only to lose it again at his next words.

“Pants off. Now.”

He’d never obeyed an order so quickly in his life.

“Face the desk.” The next order came just as he had managed to fumble his way through untying his pants, and he nearly stumbled over them moving into position. As soon as he had turned, he felt a hand at his neck, pushing his face down until his cheek pressed against the cold surface, the edge of the desk digging almost painfully into his thighs as Tobirama adjusted him. His hands were placed flat, elbows bent near his body.

“Stay.” He couldn’t see where Tobirama moved to, hair covering his face. His cock was trapped between him and the hard surface, but he didn’t dare move, feeling his heart rate pick up at the sounds of some riffling across the room.

Despite being able to hear him come back, the only sounds in the room his shuddering breaths and Tobirama’s shoes against the tile floor, he still started when a hand brushed the hair from his face. He lay across him for a moment, weighing down on his back, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Not a sound unless I say otherwise. Understood?”

His breath hitched. “Yes, sensei.”

“Good.” The weight lifted. Something popped behind him, the sound unfamiliar and echoing around them. Before he could decide whether to be concerned or not, he was gasping, hips jerking forward as a cold liquid dripped down his crack. It slid thick, making him shiver, finding it more odd than anything else.

Tobirama came into view once more, shuffling through some papers next to him. One hand tapped the back of his thigh, telling him to spread his legs further apart.

When a finger started rubbing him, slow and insistent circles right around his entrance, he bit his tongue. Tobirama didn’t so much as glance at him, dipping a quill into an ink pot even as he teased, fingertip pressing just enough to almost breach him before rubbing circles once more.

By the time it finally dipped inside, just a single knuckle passed the tight ring of muscles, he was shaking. It hooked inside of him, tugging lightly, and he couldn’t fight the need to rock back, whining low when the finger withdrew.

A sharp slap had him yelping. His ass stung from the blow, face flushing red and cock twitching with interest.

“What did I say, Madara?”

“N-no sounds.” He was leaking. He could feel precum pooling on the desk, just enough to let his dick slide against it, the light friction only causing him further torture.

The hand soothed back over the stinging mark. Not quite an apology, more an acceptance of his words. It squeezed him once before getting back to work, moving to press into him once more.

Time had little meaning to him, lost as he was to the feel of Tobirama’s fingers reaching into him, working him loose. He lost sight of him, forehead hard on the desk, hair falling into his face once more, eyes shut tight. But he could still hear his quill scratching across paper, the clinking of metal objects, contrasting his ragged breaths, the heart thudding in his ears, the obscene squelching of the digits invading him.

It had to be the work of the gods that kept him quiet. Even when the hand pulled away entirely, he managed to whimper without sound. With its absence, it finally registered how badly he had started to shake - from the painful position, biting back his moans, being so close and having no where near enough stimulation to send him over.

He forced an eye open, peeking through his hair to try and spot Tobirama. But he had moved out of sight once more, the sound of rustling cloth behind him letting him know where. His legs were spread wider a moment later, his hands lifted from the table and stretched back, forcing him to hold his cheeks apart.

It was the feel of Tobirama’s length, sliding hot over where he so desperately wanted him, that finally choked a whine out of his throat. The sound earned him another slap, the scolding bringing more heat to his face even as desire spiked through him.

Tobirama took his sweet time with this, too. Slow strokes from root to tip, pulling back to circle the head around his entrance, a hand firm at his hips to keep him still.

He nearly cried in relief when he finally, _finally_ , felt a cock stretching him open, not stopping until he was fully sheathed in him. It burned despite the thorough prepping, but the pain was drowned out by the bliss of being full after being too empty for far too long.

If he thought Tobirama had been trying to kill him before, the slow way he worked in and out of him now had him convinced it was true. It wasn’t enough. None of it was. Even as he grazed against the nerves that sparked white in his vision, as he rocked at a steady pace, it was too languid. It stoked the fire in his gut to a near maddening heat, leaving him aching painfully with no relief in sight.

The hand at his hip ran up his back, over his shoulder, brushing his hair aside. Tobirama leaned over him, the angle causing more sparks across his skin, hot breath at his ear.

“Are you close?”

“Y-yes, sen- _hnnn_.” He dug his nails into his skin, hoping to spread himself even an inch further, desperate and wanting and breathless.

“Do you want to come, then?” The feel of teeth tugging at his ear made his eyes roll, preventing any attempt at an answer. “Doesn’t matter either way. You’re not allowed unless I let you.”

He felt that knot of heat in his gut flare at the words. Tobirama stood back up, taking some of the heat with him, keeping a hand at his back as he continued with the torturous bastardization of fucking him.

It lasted too long for words, drawn out into infinity. But at last Tobirama’s hips stuttered, his breath hitching as he spilled into him. Madara wanted to scream in frustration as he stilled, taking a minute to calm himself before pulling out altogether, leaving him clenching around nothing but air and aching need.

Something dripped down his thigh, semen or oil or some mixture of both. The lab was too cold with Tobirama not touching him, his knees shaking and legs unsteady even as he laid across the desk. He couldn’t keep track of the man’s movements, his breaths too loud and mind near panicking from how close he’d come to the edge.

Hands on his hips grounded him, pulling him backwards until he was seated in Tobirama’s lap. His chin was tilted to the side, a hand soothing down his arm, red eyes hazed with the remnants of release but still stern.

“What did you learn, Madara?”

He shook in his arms, one hand clawing at his shirt and gripping it tight. “N-never demand something from sensei.”

“Good boy.” His eyes softened ever so slightly, one hand running through his hair, cupping his cheek.

The kiss was unexpected. As was its nature, sweet and undemanding, more suited for lovers than whatever they were now. Any confusion was drowned out quickly by the shift of his arms, one around his shoulder while fingers wrapped around his shaft. His cries were swallowed by soft lips, his own release ripping out of him and leaving him dazed.

 

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?”

He must have dozed off at some point, starting at the words. At some level he recognized that Tobirama must have cleaned him off, the absence of a sticky mess speaking to that. But the chest he was pressed into was far too warm for him to care, and he simply nuzzled back into it with a contented hum.

“Well, are you?”

“Not if you keep talking to me, I’m not.” He didn’t bother to even open his eyes, pressing the words into his shirt and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Tobirama sighed but didn’t try to move him, only shifted him enough to get back to work. The sound of a scratching quill lulled him to sleep, accompanied by the occasional soft brush of lips on the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mission: Get That Dick = Success
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the seventh day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Overstimulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Madara bets he can do something, he takes it _very_ seriously

Madara loved fire. The smell of burning wood, the colors, the heat. The sound alone could lull him to sleep even on those nights when his brain refused to rest.

That being said, he was quickly discovering that some fires were just the slightest bit  _absolutely unbearable and made him want to die_.

His insides were screaming. His throat was scratched raw. And every single  _inch_  of him burned like someone had set a match to his skin.

He bit his pillow to muffle a scream, at this point unconcerned whether it was from pleasure or pain or pure frustration.

“That sounds painful.”

“ _I’m fine!_ ”He was absolutely not fine. His fingers hurt from clenching his pillow too long, his jaw hurt from grinding his teeth, and he couldn’t stop moving his hips  _\- which wasn’t helping anything_.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, fingers catching on the tangles in his hair. Instead of complaining, he turned and threw himself across his boyfriend’s lap, trying not to whimper as his hand started to rub down his back.

“I could take it out, you know.”

“ _Don’t you dare_!”

He could do this. This wouldn’t defeat him. He buried his face against a rather beautifully muscled thigh, shaking and doing his best to catch his breath - while Tobirama used his shoulder as a book rest, still rubbing gentle circles into his lower back, sending unwelcomed sparks shooting outwards from the skin-on-skin contact.

The last orgasm had hit him like a truck, and he’d thought he’d died there for a second. He hadn’t even known he could have one again so quickly, or that he could come dry like that. Not that he had much time to think on it, considering how wrecked his nerves were -  _still were_  - how his entire body was shivering and refused to lay still and just shook and  _ached_  -

But it was worth it. He could do this. It might kill him - would  _definitely_  kill him - but he would have still won.

Maybe. Is that how bets worked? If you died trying, did you technically win?

Tobirama shifted, removing the hair that was stuck to Madara’s face to brush it behind his ear. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, red eyes a little too bright with amusement for his liking.

“It’s one.”

“ _Oh thank fu- take it out_!”

Even laying down as he was, it felt like he collapsed with relief when the vibrator was finally removed, every inch of him still sparking and feeling and too  _alive_ \- but  _finally_  it was  _gone_.

Tobirama’s hand ran up his back, soothing the spasming muscles. When Madara peeked up at him, the edges of his lips were quirking up, chest twitching with the effort to hold in his laughter. The bastard.

“Was it worth it?”

Instead of responding, Madara hid his face in his lap, doing his best to convince his body to melt there. He fully planned on staying right where he was the whole night - or week. Week sounded better.

Now that his brain could finally focus on something other than  _too much too much too much_ , he could tell his whole body was sore. Shoulders, neck, back. His stomach and dick were also coated and sticky and entirely unpleasant (and he was also pretty sure he was still hard, though god only knows how  _that_  was possible. What did Mini-Mada even think he would get out of coming  _again_?). Not to mention he could still feel ghost vibrations shaking through his arse, and his throat was so dry it hurt to swallow.

He’d done it, though, and it was  _entirely_  worth it. The fingers digging into a knot in his back had him hum (and coughing after the hum, because of  _course_  even that would hurt now). He heart Tobirama snicker a bit before going back to his book but didn’t bother calling him out on it.

Let him laugh while he could. Come Saturday, when  _Tobirama_  would be the one having to drive a love-struck Hashirama the whole five hours to see his fiance, he wouldn’t be laughing anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eighth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Drunk sex and edging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara finds a creative way to satisfy his cruelty streak

Shinobi were cruel beings by nature, if only by necessity. The missions they went would drive any sane person mad, would rip the morality right out of someone.

The fact that they had lived through war only furthered this point. And Madara was no exception to this rule.

Oh, most days the man could fool his village. His political mask had been perfected by years of use. Even his bursts of non-violent anger proved to his benefit, since they so often ended with him doing nothing more than sputtering nonsense and storming away.

So few knew his quiet anger. So few had survived it.

Tobirama had seen it. Had seen him truly snap, having to step out of his way when blood lust took him over. Had watched the bodies fall in his path, not a word or war cry falling from the Uchiha’s lips - just life taken in his hands, at his mercy.

Knew all too well the types of missions Madara had taken, only months after the village was formed. He’d had to take some himself, when the peace had become suffocating, when his fingers itched and his shoulders tensed because no one had died (he hated death,  _hated_  killing, but he knew nothing else. Only knew that if he didn’t kill,  _he_  would be killed. No matter how he tried to convince his instincts that he was  _safe_  here, they were never convinced without the smell of blood on his hands).

But knowing Madara was cruel and  _experiencing_  it were two different things.

At least this cruelty didn’t leave bodies behind them.

It had been an accident the first time, a drunken dare turned make-out turned dry fucking. The second time could be called the same, just two frustrated men high off adrenaline after a too-close call with a group of Kumo nin. The third, healthy experimentation.

The fourth through thirtieth were a bit harder to explain off.

But all of those times had been relatively  _normal_. Madara’s typical mask in place, not a hint of the cruel man he was there.

It turns out, all it took was a little bit of whisky to break that mask.

Madara’s head was resting between his shoulder blades, his hair scratchy at his back. One arm tucked underneath him, draped around his waist loosely, fingers occasionally running light across his skin.

His other hand had been torturing him for hours.

Tobirama tugged at the rope holding his wrists, knowing it wouldn’t give but still not able to help himself. His ankles burned where he’d squirmed and tried to loosen the rope there too, chafing from the rough material. He’d tried to cut through them with chakra several times out of sheer frustration, forgetting that the damned things  _prevented_  chakra use.

“ _I’m going to kill you, Uchiha.”_

He tried to make it sound like a threat, but couldn’t even convince himself of it. And Madara only huffed out a short laugh, taking a moment to brush his lips at the nape of his neck - running his fingers oh so slow down his shaft, making him have to bite back a whimper.

When he agreed to this, he hadn’t expected it to last this long.  _Hours_. Literal  _hours_. Hours of Madara bringing him right to the brink of bliss, only to retract his hand and do  _nothing_. Hours of fighting against the binds holding him back. Hours of nothing but  _madness_  and the dwindling hope that maybe,  _maybe_ , next time his hand wouldn’t stop, maybe he’d grip him just a little tighter, twist his wrist just right.

Hours of realizing that Madara was so much crueler than he’d ever thought him to be.

Madara hummed against his neck, his palm moving down to caress his sack, roll one of his testicles and tear a painful moan out of his already sore throat.

“You have been rather patient.”

He could have cried at the words. Wanted to  _beg_  for him not to stop, shaking as he rubbed just a thumb on one side of his cock. But he bit his words back, knowing Madara was just as likely to continue his torture if he begged for release.

“Then again,” Madara nuzzled back between his shoulder blades, and the words had dread burrowing itself a home in Tobirama’s gut, “I don’t think I’m quite done yet.”

He gasped when a finger ran right over the slit of his cock, only to whimper when the hand moved away entirely -  _again_. Blood was rushing in his ears, but even that wasn’t enough to drown out how loud he was breathing.

“ _I hate you_.”

Madara laughed at him. His face came into view, eyes dark and lips pink. When he kissed him, a gentle press of lips, nothing hurried or passionate, his breath tasted of whisky still.

“You love me.” That smirk had his pulse racing even further, left him just that much more breathless.

And Tobirama hated that he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the ninth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Public sex (and caught)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t sleep, I’m in a really good mood, and it’s technically Thursday. So post away~~~

This was a bad idea.

They were perched high in a tree, given cover and shade by the thick summer blossoms and leaves. The park just ahead of them had a few stragglers, people here and there enjoying the midday breeze, a couple of picnic blankets throw onto the fresh-cut grass, the sounds of the near-by festival floating nonsensical chatter and the smell of grilled food their way.

Sneaking away from the festival had been difficult, to say the least. Hashirama had spent months planning it, taking whole days off of work in the spirit of “community building,” and had wanted his entire family there at his side for the grand unveiling of his “hard work” - which really just meant he wanted to waste time wandering about the stalls and sobbing onto their shoulders until their nice kimono were soaked through.

It had been Mito who had saved them, though there was no telling if she’d meant to or not. She managed to lure her fiance away with nothing but a flair of her fan, the love-struck fool attaching himself to her arm in an instant to recite some poem he’d scribbled onto a napkin grabbed from a yakitori stand.

Her knowing glance their way could have meant a multitude of different things, though they were hardly going to waste time finding out what.

Madara had been the one to drag him into the tree, causing a bit of cursing from both their sides at how difficult it was to move in their far-too-formal attire - another ridiculous demand from their soon-to-be hokage, one he’d given to Tobirama with the threat of blackmail (and knowing  _exactly_  what Hashirama had on him meant he’d agreed without a word of protest, and had forced Madara into a kimono along with him so he wouldn’t have to suffer alone. At least with the Uchiha in one as well, he had a nice view).

The privacy given by the tree branches had been a blessing all its own. Despite the heat, doubly uncomfortable due to their clothing, Madara had dragged him into his lap and held him there, heaving a contented sigh at the physical contact.

Normally, Tobirama wouldn’t allow him to so much as hold his hand whilst they were out and about the village. He detested such public displays; people stared at him enough as it was, and he wasn’t going to give anyone another reason to do so.

But he knew how much this meant to Madara. How tactile he was by nature. And it wasn’t like anyone could see them, tucked away as they were in the treetops.

Knowing Madara constantly craved physical touch meant he paid little mind to his wandering hands, letting one slip inside his kimono with no complaint. The skin on skin contact letting him relax further, pressing forward onto Tobirama’s back, nothing more than a comfort for him at the moment.

Tobirama, on the other hand, seemed to be developing a problem.

He had known for years on some level that, though public displays of affection bothered him, public displays of  _intimacy_  were a little  _too_  appealing. If he’d given it much thought beyond acknowledging these things as facts, he might have found some sort of correlation between these two aspects of his character.

It certainly wasn’t something he’d told anyone about, embarrassing as it was. The topic had never come up in conversation, even those revolving around sexual habits and fantasies of theirs.

He was starting to reconsider that decision of his, to never mention it to anyone. Because if Madara’s innocent touches, just a hand running back and forth on his chest, could make him this restless and honest to the gods  _needy_  - something that so rarely happened for him, with his lower than average sex drive - it  _had_  to be worth exploring.

Maybe that was just his erection talking. But, really, if no one could see them - which he was certain they couldn’t - and assuming Madara was willing... Was there really anything to lose?

Madara stopped as soon as he grabbed his wrist, sitting up a little straighter and shifting to the side to see him better. “Should I stop?”

“Ahhh, no, it’s not...” Finding it rather difficult to face him at the moment, he focused on one of the blossoms hanging just a few feet away. He didn’t know one tree species from another, though he’s sure Hashirama had spouted nonsense at him before concerning what trees were planted where around the village. “Madara, do you, well. Are you aware of what... _exhibitionism_ is...?”

“Uuhhhh, yes?” After just a second of silence, Madara jerked to the side, his eyes wide. “I-I wasn’t meaning to- didn’t mean it like  _that_ or anything! Shit, I’m sorry I wasn’t- I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t do anything.” He felt Madara deflate against him, his head tucked into his back once more. “I was just asking in case...”

“In case what?”

“In case you were...interested?”

The next few moments were probably the longest of his life. Waiting to find out whether Madara would scoff at him or shove him out of the tree in disgust -  _or_. Or.

Acceptance was a long shot. Madara wanting to play along, even more so. But Tobirama was just hard enough to hope.

“Interested.” The word came out rough, and Tobirama couldn’t help but shiver, tightening his hold on Madara’s wrist. “As in, you want to...? Here?”

Tobirama turned just enough to see his face, and the lack of rejection there his next words so much easier. “If you do this now, I’ll buy lingerie.”

He felt his breath stutter, watched his black eyes grow even darker in interest, hand running smooth down his stomach. “Black lace. And you’ll wear it?”

“It, and nothing else.”

And, really, Tobirama  _knew_  this was a bad idea. Knew it full well while he guided Madara’s hand into his kimono, having to loosen the sash as they went, his other hand tangled into the high ponytail Madara had worked his hair into earlier that morning.

He knew, but didn’t care. All he cared about was how perfect Madara’s bare palm felt running along the length of his cock, how the breeze felt against his skin, how he could hear the village bustling on right next to their hide-away.

It was a thrill beyond words, stifling his own moans against Madara’s mouth, with skilled shinobi walking within sight and completely unaware of their crimes of passion. The danger just added to his desire, made him twitch under the ministrations.

With Madara’s hand running so smooth over him, firm and steady, aided along by him leaking heavily from his fantasy come to life, it didn’t take long from him to shake apart. It registered vaguely that this was an  _expensive_  kimono that he had just spilled into, but he was more interested in the warmth at his back, the hand still pumping him slow, lazy, helping him ride out the aftershocks.

The summer heat burned around them, but Tobirama didn’t mind. He fell into the bonfire at his back, letting his muscles melt in content comfort, humming as Madara kissed at his neck.

A night of wearing lingerie was more than worth his own fantasy. Maybe he could do a few nights? It was only fair.

“ _There you are_!” The exclamation had them both freezing, but the weight dipping the branch down an instant later told them it was far too late. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, and Mito wouldn’t tell me-  _MADARA WHERE IS YOUR HAND?_ ”

With Madara’s hand still tucked down Tobirama’s disheveled kimono, the damage was already done - evidenced quite clearly by how Hashirama fell backwards out of the tree, scrambling back while scrubbing at his eyes. In Tobirama’s horror, rushing to fix his clothes enough to make a break for home and pushing Madara ahead of him (who had frozen in fear, knowing all too well how overprotective his friend could be over his precious little brother), a rather insane thought crossed his mind that had him near giggling in panic.

At least now they wouldn’t have to break the news to him. It would be rather difficult to misunderstand their relationship now, after that, even for someone as dense as his older brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _really_ enjoyed writing this one.
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the tenth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Breeding and knotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less 'breeding as a kink' and more 'hey let's have kids' based. Mentions of Mpreg existing and generally being a thing.
> 
> A bit early, but I'm gonna be busy later and don't wanna forget~

The first rays of sunlight were just beginning to color the room, bathing the walls in red-orange and peeking through the strands of loose hair falling in his face. Madara patted blindly at the other side of the futon, lifting his head from the damp spot on his pillow when his fingers didn’t touch anyone, sight still blurred from sleep and mind muddled.

It took a minute of processing, most of it spent wiping drool from his chin and fighting with the hair wrapped around his neck, but his husband’s absence finally kicked in as something normal and unconcerning. As a matter of fact, he could feel his chakra steady in the kitchen, not even having left the house yet.

Willpower was the main thing preventing him from rousing, his own stubbornness getting in the way. Though the promise of coffee was enough to get him going. He’d managed to kick the covers off at some point, which at least meant he didn’t have to struggle out of them like usual, already giving a slight boost to his mood.

Getting dressed involved a lot of cursing, though that was nothing new either. At least having to think through tying his pants left him a little more lucid, his mumbled nonsensical curses turning into actual words.

He was still trying to yank his unruly hair into some sort of order by the time he stumbled his way to the kitchen. Tobirama was already seated at the table there, fully dressed and impeccable as always, not a hair out of order, nose stuck in a scroll.

Madara spared a moment to kiss his head as he walked by, not bothering to try and speak to him. After years of being married to and living with the man, he knew he was not being ignored - when Tobirama gave something his focus, he gave  _all_  of his focus, and had no doubt not even realized he wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

Besides, it wasn’t like his husband was all that inattentive. The fresh pot of coffee spoke to that, as well as his usual mug sitting next to it, washed and dried just this morning for him.

Tobirama might have his strange quirks, and might even get too sucked into his work at times, but he meant well.

He was only half a cup of coffee in, staring out the window to watch the baby birds chirping away in the nest their mother had made on the back porch, when a warm arm circled his waist. After a few soft kisses to the back of his head, Tobirama brushed his hair to the side, the feel of his lips at his neck making him sigh back into him.

Madara loved this. The quiet moments between them, shared before duty drug them apart. They had become so hard to come by the past few weeks. What with Hashirama’s retirement from office baring down on them, as if their usual duties weren’t enough. The bastard hadn’t lasted a whole decade before trying to shove off the hat on one of them - it was only sheer stubborn will that kept Madara safe from that headache. Still, that meant Tobirama would be taking the title instead, and likewise meant less time for themselves for the foreseeable future.

It was nice, then, to know the mornings were theirs. That no one would dare interrupt them here, and he could just relax back into his husband’s arms, let his nipping teeth graze against his ear, his perpetually cold fingers find their way up his shirt, breath smelling of black tea and honey-

“I want children.”

“ _What_?”

Tobirama just stared blankly at him while he sputtered, as if he didn’t understand why that sudden and completely out of no where statement might fluster  _literally anyone with a sane mind_.

It took a good minute or two for the shock to wear off enough to speak (though Madara was convinced his heart would never recover. Good thing Hashirama had started researching into heart transplants). “Th-that’s good to know?”

His husband gave a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps I should have phrased that differently. Do you want children, Madara?”

“That’s not different  _phrasing_ , you know.” Gods save him, but Madara had no idea how to handle his husband sometimes. His communication skills were nonexistent.

Still...if he were being honest, he  _had_  given it some thought over the past few years. The whole idea of stampeding little ones hadn’t been all that appealing when the Uchiha elders were breathing down his neck about it, but after he’d beaten them back away from his personal life (physically, with the help of his trusty gunbai), when it became more of  _wanting_  children instead of  _having_  to have them, it hadn’t seemed all that bad.

They were rather busy, though, and having even one child would make them exponentially more so. But weren’t all shinobi parents busy? And the Uchiha were firm believers in the ‘it takes a village’ mindset - they would never be short on capable and willing babysitters. It really wouldn’t be all  _that_  bad, surely. He even had personal experience dealing with kids, having practically raised his four brothers and two sisters up until, well. Better to not think of the war.

“Yeah, I guess it would be nice.” Having a mini Tobirama clone or two running around would be quite adorable. He hadn’t seen his husband when he was a real little tyke, but knew he was already cute as a preteen. And with his own devilishly handsome features, their children would be blessed for sure.

Wait. Not necessarily a good thing. Sage above, he’d be beating back the suitors left and right. Though he did have a pretty nasty looking scowl, maybe that would work to scare the weak ones off...

“Splendid.” Tobirama gave his cheek a quick peck, before snatching one of his hands and tearing him away from the kitchen.

“W-wait, wha-”

“No time like the present, as they say.” Madara found himself being pushed into their bedroom, his brain not quite caught up with what was happening even as Tobirama started to work their clothes off.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

Tobirama paused, shirt still in hand from where he’d started to chuck it somewhere. “What’s there to discuss? I want children, you want children. Is that not enough?”

“I dunno, don’t most couples, uhh,” Madara scratched at his hair, doing his best to not stare at his husband’s bare chest. All that pale flesh made it difficult to think properly. “Don’t they try to figure shit out first? Like, what to expect...? Or-shit, I don’t know!”

“I’ve already started researching into it, though not much.” Tobirama shrugged one shoulder, going back to removing his clothes as he spoke. “There are several support groups active for expecting parents, all of which are more than willing to accept questions and new members. The guest room is never used, so that can be the nursery. I picked up a dozen or so books on the different stages of pregnancy, and have skimmed through a couple already. And the section on child rearing at the public library is extensive enough to fill in any blanks our families and the support group might miss.”

“Not much?” Madara shook his head at the thought. There wasn’t a single thing his husband had ever done halfway. “But are you sure about this?”

His answer was a hot mouth, tongue swiping against his own, and his back hit the futon.

It took an embarrassing amount of time for Madara to figure out their positioning was wrong - well, more like  _ineffective for procreation_ , because nothing had ever felt more  _right_  than Tobirama being on top of him, pushing one leg up and twisting his fingers inside of him  _just so_  to drive him wild. He was already three fingers in when Madara tugged on his hair, barely able to  _think_  let alone speak with those lips wrapped around his cock.

“Tobira- I can’t, we’ll have to-” He groaned when he felt himself suddenly empty, cursing his damned need to speak up in the first place. Tobirama crawled up to him, all swollen wet lips and mouth tasting of him.

“Ah, right. Habit.” Another kiss, lingering and more loving than the last, less fire and tongue but just as sweet. He had to take a minute to find the oil, lost as it was in the tossed about covers, the whole while distracting Madara with that wicked tongue on his chest, marking him with his teeth.

He didn’t even hear the lid pop open, hardly aware of Tobirama repositioning himself until his breath caught on a moan, stopping the assault on his senses.

And what he wouldn’t give to see what he knew was happening at that moment. To watch Tobirama’s fingers disappear into him, watch as he stretched himself open. Just hearing the air leaving his lungs shaky, seeing his half-lidded eyes, the red shaded darker with pleasure, those pretty white eyelashes brushing against his cheeks when they fluttered, had his own hips jerking of their own accord.

Madara pulled his husband closer, slipping a hand behind him to feel what he couldn’t see. Working a finger of his own in proved to be easy enough and left Tobirama gasping above him, the sounds of bitten back moans making Madara buck more, aching from the absence of touch.

If he took the time to think back on their sex life (which, if he was honest with himself, he did  _a lot_ ), Madara could have probably counted the number of times they’d been in this position on one hand. Not that either of them hated it, so clearly enjoying themselves as Tobirama pushed himself down on his cock, eyes rolling back and the both of them breathless. It just so happened that they usually enjoyed the reverse more.

The change in routine was nice, and Madara relished in the heat surrounding him, clenching around him. Ran his hands up the muscled thighs stripped in red, tracing the tattoos spiraling up his hips. Wrapped one around the cock near bouncing from their rhythm just to hear him whimper in need.

As he felt himself getting close, sucked into the man riding him wild, all he could think about was watching Tobirama fall apart above him. That image had his hand moving faster, lifting his hips to meet each downward thrust as best he could, eyes flashing red to burn each twitch in those final seconds into his memory for later.

Then Tobirama stopped, and cold air hitting his cock made him hiss, fingers slipping on sweat-slick skin as he tried to pull his husband back.

“I’m not getting stuck like that for half an hour.”

“Half an...?” He almost thought about questioning why it would be that long, but his husband was flopping down next to him, back to chest, a hand guiding him back into that consuming heat.

Despite his best efforts to hold back, Madara came apart first, whining when Tobirama didn’t stop. Their movements were restricted now, but a hand found his sack, not letting up even after both had found their release.

With his brain fuzzy with post-orgasm bliss, it took a minute to figure out why Tobirama was still touching him - and nearly choked when he clenched around him again, finding it impossible to lay still with his already shot nerves being stimulated.

By the time he came again, an almost pitiful whine fighting its way out of his throat, he was shaking, clawing at Tobirama’s chest.

Tobirama had been close to right, at the very least, though he seemed to have underestimated. It took almost twenty minutes for Madara to calm down enough for them to separate, though he was loathe to do so even then, ready to doze off with his husband pressed warm against his chest. But Tobirama was nothing if not professional, and pulled away with a quick kiss, reaching for his clothes and ignoring Madara’s protests.

“Are you free for lunch?”

Madara fell back against the futon with a huff, not at all pouting about their cuddle time being over. “Yes.”

“Good. I have a meeting at one with the council, but we should have plenty of time for another round.”

“Another-” Madara was interrupted by another kiss, losing himself for a second in the gentle palm at his cheek, the thumb rubbing loving circles there.

“I’ll be home early tonight, too, so try not to stay out late.” A peck to his nose, and his husband left, headed off to his office for the day.

Well. Looked like they would be extra busy for a while. Madara threw the covers over himself, wanting to take advantage of the next free hour to recuperate. Just as he thought, his husband never half-assed anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another A/O/B, with Madara as the alpha this time. Still not hyper-focused on the A/O/B part cause that what I do yo
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the eleventh day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Dirty talk and doctor play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madara did _not_ want to work with me this chapter. Usually he's all for the sex, but _nooooo_ , this time he just wanted to _pet the pretty white hair_ *grumble grumble*

"Are you sure you can’t take a look, Doctor Senju? Maybe you could help... _take care_  of my problem.”

Tobirama sat his beaker down a bit too hard for Madara’s liking, the threat of sloshing liquid having him inch away from it from his spot on the desk. “For the last time, Madara, I am a  _scientist_ , not a  _doctor_.”

Not at all deterred by the clipped tone, Madara snatched up one of his wrists, doing his best to tug his boyfriend closer. “That’s why it’s called  _roleplay_.”

“We’re in my  _lab_.”

“It’s called ‘setting the scene’.” Madara huffed at him, finally managing to pull him closer - and, just to be sure he stayed there, he wrapped his legs around him, fitting Tobirama right between his thighs.

“I really don’t know what you want from me.” Even after letting Madara fit him into place, Tobirama looked a little too hesitant for his liking. But, no matter. Madara knew his weakness well enough.

“I was  _hoping_  you’d be my doctor.” Going in straight for the kill, Madara reached out and buried both hands in that white hair, scratching his scalp with blunt nails. The effect was instant, Tobirama all but melting into him, face in his chest and only held up by Madara’s arms.

“Scientist. Not doctor. Find someone else.” The words were mumbled, followed shortly by a content sigh.

“Finding someone else would defeat the point. It’d be hot because it’s  _you_.” Tobirama turned just enough to glance up at him, though the sage only knew what look he was trying to pull off. All he managed to do was look blissed out at the pets he was receiving.

And that certainly wouldn’t do. As much as he loved spoiling his boyfriend, he came here for a reason. Moving one of his hands to cup his face, he ran a thumb over his lower lip. Maybe a bit of teasing would help get him in the mood. “Besides, I couldn’t imagine a prettier set of lips wrapped around my cock.”

“ _Madara_!” The bright blush was worth the sharp smack on his arm - though he did note Tobirama was hardly using his full strength. A good sign, really.

“Gonna tell me you don’t like it,  _Tobirama_?” It took some doing, but Madara managed to bring his face up to meet his own, running his thumbs over the pink spreading around red tattoos. “You sure seem eager enough most nights to get on your knees for me.”

“That’s...” Tobirama wouldn’t meet his eyes, worrying his lip between his teeth as he stared down between them. “Is that...?”

And oh, Madara  _loved_  that look. That look meant he’d won. “Would you like to now? To take me in your mouth, taste me?”

Tobirama was near scarlet now, running a hand over Madara’s thigh, fingers grazing over the obvious tent in his pants. “If I do, will you...?”

Leaning forward, he took a second to nibble on his ear, purring, “Want me to keep talking, baby?”

“ _Yes_.”

And with that clever mouth wrapping around him so beautifully, throat tight and a wicked tongue, who was he to say no?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as shhhmutty as I was hoping for, but fucking Madara man.
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the twelfth day of drabbles, the plot buns threw at me:  
> Poetry reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something soft and sweet for the last day~~~
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone!!!!

_"It is with awe_  
_That I beheld_  
_Fresh leaves, green leaves,_  
_Bright in the sun.”_

The rumbling voice rolled through the quiet over to him, words mumbled into the sheets of the futon. From where he stood, all Tobirama could make out was hair, bare back covered in waves of it, his chin no doubt resting on one arm as he flipped through his newest collection of poetry.

It was a nightly routine for him, though one he’d only recently become comfortable sharing with his lover. Laying on his stomach, pillows ignored and shoved away from his face, cover draped around his waist to serve as some form of modesty or warmth - and he would read, aloud, slow and quiet, the words seeming to settle him in further and calm him.

Spending so much time at the other’s house was still relatively new for the both of them, though it had taken only a few days for Tobirama to fall in love with this newest privilege of his. Being able to slip into the futon next to Madara, crawling up over him until their bare bodies were flush up against one another, kissing at his cheek and neck - there was perhaps a bit more time spent spitting out hair than he’d like, but what was one to do about that when faced with a mane such as his?

The more important question, however, dealt less with hair and more where his blood happened to be pooling at the moment: was Madara  _in the mood_. His kisses and nuzzling were going ignored, though that never meant much anyway when Madara was sucked into his poetry. More telling was that he hadn’t been thrown off of him, seeing as he was currently weighing down on his back, no doubt squishing his lungs at least a little.

 _“Shaking the grave_  
_My weeping voice_  
_Autumn wind”_

“Why do you read them out loud?” Since Madara stilled seemed overly embarrassed about having any hobby beyond physical violence, it was something he’d only let himself wonder in private. Now seemed as good a time as any to question it, seeing that he was currently trapped beneath him.

“I don’t know.” Madara huffed as he grumbled, tipping his head forward to cover his face with more hair - trying to hide the blush forming on his cheeks, no doubt. He fiddled with the pages of his book for a few moments, adding in a much softer tone, “I like to taste the words.”

“Taste the words?” Tobirama kissed his ear, having to fight with his hair to do so. “Are you a poet now, too?”

“I’m not a poet.”

Tobirama could feel him pout, and stifled his laughter the best he could. It still amazed him how truly adorable the man could be at times. It might be a bit cruel to tease him, but he found it impossible to resist. “I wouldn’t mind if you wrote me a poem.”

“I don’t write poems.”

“Then read to me.”

The request had him grumbling, no doubt wary of being mocked. But the soft brush of lips against his shoulder seemed to ease his mind, letting him go back to his reading with a rather exaggerated put-upon sigh.

There was little chance Madara hadn’t yet realized his problem, pressed as it was against his hip. But Tobirama was hardly going to assume acceptance as consent, and nor was he in much of a hurry to begin with. He took time to enjoy the sound of Madara’s voice, pushing the rest of his hair out of the way and laying full against his back. Trailed fingers over his free arm, kissing his back, shoulder, neck, pressing soft and gentle against his skin. Felt him melt into the futon, more than a little proud to have such a tense, paranoid warrior relaxing as he nipped small marks near his pulse point.

Finding the oil took a bit of work, it having fallen out of the pillowcase when Madara tossed the offending object aside. He made sure to wait for a lull between the poems to show it in offer. “Is this alright?”

Madara looked away with a huffed breath. “If you must.”

Sometimes, getting a straight answer out of him was like pulling teeth. Tobirama frowned, not accepting that as an answer either way, deciding that going back to showering affection on his back was the safest option.

When Madara started to squirm beneath him, he knew his answer. Even still, he waited for him to speak, teeth a bit sharper and tongue soothing the red marks he left on pale skin.

“Would you get on with it?”

There it was. With one last kiss, pressed to a burning cheek this time, Tobirama popped the oil open, making sure to spread plenty over his fingers before pushing the covers out of his way.

It was a bit of a surprise when Madara went back to his reading, continuing even as the words were interrupted by shaky breaths and swallowed moans. By the time Tobirama pushed into him, laced fingers and brushed lips, he was breathless, small noises tearing out of his throat as he gripped his hand hard.

Before Tobirama managed to move, buried as far as he could be within him, the burning need for friction boiling hot, he felt Madara’s whole body tense under him.

“Would you ju- _just give me a minute_.”

Part of him wanted to protest, but Tobirama held himself back, willing his hips and body to still. Laying back down onto him without teasing himself proved a bit difficult, but he managed, nuzzling against Madara’s cheek to distract himself.

The heat clenching around him was not helping. Nor was his own body’s insistent begging to thrust into it. Conveniently enough, there was another form of distraction laid out in front of them, inked into the pages and waiting for him.

 _“As they begin to rise again_  
_Chrysanthemums faintly smell,_  
_After the flooding rain.”_

_“I told you to give me a freaking minute!”_

So much for a helpful distraction. Tobirama slumped a bit more onto him, ready to give as much time as he needed while still hoping with all his might he could move soon. Willpower had yet to fail him so far; hopefully, it wouldn’t now either.

The okay to move came with Madara pressing back against him.

It was a slow sort of thing between them, movements unhurried, poetry dripping rough from Madara’s tongue. Soft moments were hardly rare between them, but Tobirama couldn’t help but feel something was different now, their hands linked as he rolled his hips, eyes fluttering shut against the tight feeling in his chest, nose buried in wild hair and that deep voice rolling through him.

When Madara finally stopped reading, blunt nails on the futon and choked back moans, the silence seemed wrong. Tobirama leaned down, kissing his cheek, the urge to press his own words there too strong to deny.

He hardly managed a whole verse before Madara gasped, tensing around him, cursing as his release hit without warning.

If holding still before had been difficult, stopping to not overstimulate Madara now was nigh on impossible. Knowing how much his lover hated the feeling helped, if only just. He pulled out slowly, biting his lip against the absence of that heat, collapsing against the pile of now wet hair, breathing in the heady smell of his partner as he palmed himself between them.

“Did you not...?” Madara turned to face him, a hand on his chest to roll him over onto his back.

“Ah... Don’t worry about it.”

Madara gave him an unimpressed look, dropping his head down onto his chest as he took him in hand - the shock had him gasping, hands tugging at wild hair, eyes rolling back as he found his own release.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll be able to read poetry after this.” Tobirama huffed a laugh at the thought, basking in the warm affections of a sleepy Madara, the man snuggling right into him with a content hum.

“I already always thought of you.” The words were barely audible, half-asleep mumbles that stole the breath from his lungs.

Tobirama closed his eyes, swallowing against the ball of emotion suddenly in his throat, realization leaving him both giddy and terrified and making his heart race in panic.

How, exactly, was he supposed to tell Madara that he loved him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head canon for this chapter: Madara's low sex drive and hatred for messes means he rarely ever touches his partner during intimacy - he prefer to be the touchee yo.
> 
> I think this was my favorite concept, though perhaps not my favorite execution. Hope everyone enjoyed these little shmmutty drabbles!
> 
> All poems referenced were written by Matsuo Bashō, a poet who lived during the Edo period. The poems were, in order of appearance:  
>  _It Is With Awe_  
>  _Shaking the Grave_  
>  _As They Begin to Rise Again_
> 
> Questions/comments, as always, are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


End file.
